Morgan Hall by Ann W. Tseng
Copyright 2009 Lyrical Press, Inc.

  • Morgan Hall
  • Ann W. Tseng


    • Turning to face the mirror, Christie clipped her hair up. She turned off the taps of her bath and nestled in its welcoming warmth and scented fluffy white bubbles. She relaxed under the water with only her head peering out from the cloud of white foam. As she closed her eyes, the water rocked to a soft rhythm. Rock, rock, rock, knock, knock, thump. Christie opened her eyes. She must have dozed off. The gentle thumping at the end of the bath continued.

    Then she felt something tickling her legs. It reminded her of the feeling of seaweed tangled around her ankles.

    The lighting in the room seemed to have changed, dimmed somehow, turning everything red. This couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be happening. She tried to kick herself free from the thing snarled around her legs, but as she kicked, the thumping grew louder and more frequent. She wanted to jump from the tub, but the tendrils seemed to weigh down her feet. In panic, she kept imploring for this to end, for her to wake up.

    Perhaps this was all a dream. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. The tugging had ceased. But before she could catch her breath, she realized the water was still red, although the ripples were still. A shadow seemed to float towards her from the end of the tub. It bumped into her right ankle, then drifted towards her knee, touching her calf. She tried to back up, but was paralyzed with fear, staring transfixed at the object between her legs. Then, it floated to the surface, its long red hair flowing among the red bubbles.

    She jerked with fear and the resulting wave flipped the object over…